


If This is a Rom-Com, Kill the Director

by chickenwinginit



Category: Game Grumps, Starbomb (Band)
Genre: Egobang - Freeform, Fluff, M/M, Secret Crush, Slow Burn, angst maybe
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-25
Updated: 2016-02-11
Packaged: 2018-05-09 03:18:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,578
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5523413
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chickenwinginit/pseuds/chickenwinginit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When he talks about it on Game Grumps, he makes it sound like it was just a stoner thing for him to stay inside for days playing video games and taking drags from his bong. But, in all honesty, Dan’s pretty sure that back then he was just sad. </p>
<p>Which is why everything still feels new and electric to him now, why he’s so profusely thrilled and grateful all the time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Realizing

**Author's Note:**

> This is a kind of self-indulgent fanfic-- I'm writing it to enjoy myself, so I can't say the writing will be perfect, but I'm also kind of egotistical, so I can't say it'll be bad, either. I'd be happy to hear any thoughts and critique, or ideas for how the story should develop. I want it to be a fun thing for reader and writer alike!! Comments give you good karma. <3

     Dan doesn’t admit it often, but he’s pretty sure all the weed he smoked when he was young was there to cover something darker. Something insidious— something that, even when he wasn’t high, made him not wanna get out of bed, or clean up around the house, or go out with friends. The pot justified the dirty dishes breeding flies around his room, the unwashed socks full of jizz dry and stiff on his floor. When he talks about it on Game Grumps, he makes it sound like it was just a stoner thing for him to stay inside for days playing video games and taking drags from his bong. But, in all honesty, Dan’s pretty sure that back then he was just sad.   
Which is why everything still feels new and electric to him now, why he’s so profusely thrilled and grateful all the time.   
     Some days they’ll be on the couch after they finish Grumping, nasty in their sweatpants and greasy old t-shirts, and Arin will offer to take him out to lunch. “Dude, I look like shit right now,” Dan will say, and laugh.   
     “Fuckin’ so? We’ve been working for _hours_ , we’ve earned the right to go out looking gross.”   
      And Dan will stop in his tracks and revel for a minute, because he just played video games with his best friends for upwards of five hours and he gets to call that _work_? This is his _job_? And holy shit, now he’s gonna get food, too? Sometimes just that is enough to make his day.  
By then Arin will already have gotten up— he’ll stretch for a minute and then wander around the Grump room in search of his wallet. “So do you want food or what?” he’ll call.   
     “Can we get Mexican?”   
     “Yeah, sure, man.”   
      Life just feels so, so good.   
  
     So yeah, things are going great for him lately, and Dan owes pretty much all of it to Arin. It happens often that he’s struck with the enormity of Arin’s influence in his life, and lately he’s been making even more of an effort to communicate just how thankful he is. They’ve had the conversation on Game Grumps so many times now that Barry’s starting to edit it out when it crops up:   
     “Oh shit, hey, Arin.”   
     “Mm?”   
     “Thank you, man.”   
     “Dude what— _fuck!_ ” he dies a lot during these little speeches, “what for?”   
     “Everything!”   
     “Dan—”   
     “No, seriously. Let’s just keep doing this forever, yeah?”   
     “... ‘Course, dude. Jeez, what’s up with you? So sappy today.”   
  
     Deep down Dan knows this is more than just thankfulness, and he’s been worried lately that he’s coming on too strong, but he’s _happy_ , nowadays, and dammit, he wants to live it up while it’s there and spread the wealth before what he knows is gonna happen, happens.   
     Meaning, before his brain catches up with the fact that he’s in love with his best friend.   
  
     It happens on a Saturday, after he finishes recording something for Steamtrain with Ross. The pair walk out of the recording room and into the center of the Grump studio to find that the rest of the team has given up on work for the day: Barry and Suzy are laying out cards to play a game of bullshit on the couch cushion between them and Arin’s slumped over in a bean bag with Twitter open on his phone. When they enter, the others look up.   
     Dan quirks a brow. “Slow day?”   
     “Over it,” Barry answers with a nod.   
     Arin, with some effort, pulls himself upright and stretches, the tendons in his arms pressing taut against the skin. He’s been wearing tanktops around the office more often now. He’s been working out more, and Dan’s happy to see his self-esteem taking an upturn. He grins fondly at the man as he works out some final kink in his neck.   
     “We’re all down and out for the day, honestly. Thought we’d wait on you and Ross to get out so we could all go do something. You up for it?”   
     “Hell yeah,” Ross answers for him. “What were you thinking?”   
     Arin gestures back to the couch. “There’s this sushi place Suzy’s been wanting to try out a couple miles from here, and after that I figured we could rent some movies and get some junk food and crash at my place.”   
     “Dude, you mean like a sleepover?” Dan gets this big, gangly grin on his face and his hands start doing this thing they do when he gets excited— curling into fists and then back out, fingers dancing in funny jitters over the space just beyond his thigh.  
     “Yeah, man. You in?”   
     He and Ross exchange a look to confirm their enthusiasm. They find each other grinning and turn to the others to deliver their agreement. “Though I’m kinda in the mood for steak,” Ross says in afterthought.   
     “Fuck you,” Suzy tunes in and laughs, “I will honestly fight you for the sake of this sushi.”   
  
     And she has good reason: the sushi place turns out to be really, really good. Ross whines about steak for a while until someone makes a comment about Outback, which was inevitable, really, and they all lose it over the indignation that springs instantly to the surface on the Australian’s face.   
     “That place is such a fucking stereotype, okay, I could count on one hand the times I’ve heard an Australian actually say ‘barbie—’”   
     “Well, there’s one more.”   
     “Fuck you! It’s for the sake of the example!” And then his accept starts to slip in through his fury and everyone’s laughing even harder; Dan loses it and falls onto Arin’s shoulder in a fit of crazy hysterics.  
     “That’s it— I’m gonna get in my goddamned kangaroo and go home. Assholes.”   
  
     They swing by an old rental store after they eat and Dan giddily combs the refreshments aisle for some good candy. They load up on movies and sweets there and then find a grocery store a couple blocks further, where they head in and leave with armfuls of pastries and a couple frozen pizzas. They’re all laughing and joking and while he’s hauling bags to the car Dan pauses and looks up at the night sky: the stars are out, tiny little specks gleaming against the rich darkness of the night, and the moon is nearly full, casting light down on the parking lot and illuminating the dancing shadows around him. He feels like he’s 15 again except he’s doing it right this time, and his stomach swells up with deep, dizzying emotion for a brief moment before the taunts of his friends bring him back to reality, and he throws the groceries into the trunk with an ear-splitting grin.   
  
     At Arin’s place they all curl up in various nooks and crannies across the living room and Suzy stuffs a Star Wars movie into the Blu Ray player. Some of them pull out their phones and just relax with the movie as background music, though Ross and Barry are rapt with attention, and Arin seems caught between interest and indifference. They make it through the first film just lounging like that, but it’s around halfway through the sequel that people start falling asleep.   
     “Hey Arin, can I crash in your bedroom?” Suzy asks through a yawn. “I hate sleeping on couches.”   
     “Be my guest, Suze,” he gestures lazily towards the hallway, where his bedroom lies just beyond. “Sleep well, alright?”   
     “Will do.” She smiles warmly at the pair of them— he and Dan are the only ones who haven’t passed out yet; instead they’re propped up next to each other on the couch around the sleeping bodies of their friends, who litter the living room like some kind of weird battlefield scene. “Night, guys.”   
     “G’night Suze,” Dan calls over his shoulder as she retreats down the hall.   
     “Dude, our friends are fucking wimps” Arin says once they’re alone, and laughs.   
     “Who was the first to fall asleep?” Dan asks, giggling,” Ross? Should dump some shaving cream on his face and throw his bra in the freezer.” Arin cackles and claps his hands together at that and Dan can’t help but beam, victorious.   
     “Shhhhh,” he hisses through his snickers, “you’ll wake everyone up.”   
     “Did you ever actually do any of that shit?” Arin asks, in a lower voice this time. He’s got this fresh new grin on his face, the kind he gets when they’re recording and they stumble into a really good bit, “Y’know, like, the classic sleepover pranks?”   
     “What, you mean, like, the whipped cream in the hand thing and just fucking with people’s stuff?”   
     “Yeah! The middle school sitcom shtick.”   
     “‘Middle school sitcom’ is not an entertainment genre, man.”   
     “Alright, yeah, but you get what I’m saying!” His voice shoots up an octave and Dan has to stifle his laughter.   
     “I honestly haven’t,” he admits, still giggling into his palm, “I mean, I had a couple buddies do it to _me_ , before, if that counts.”   
     “Shit, you’re kidding?! With the whipped cream?!”   
     “Yes! Dude, I was _pissed_. Like, it’s the shame of knowing you’ve been had that bites more than anything else, y’know?”   
     “I honestly don’t,” Arin answers, scratching at the scruff on his neck with a grin, “I’ve never done it— _or_ been on the receiving end, myself. Me and my friends were paranoid enough about getting shit from kids around school; we didn’t wanna give any to each other.”   
     “Right, you guys just compared dicks on a weekly basis.”   
      Arin makes a high noise of protest and hits him playfully in the shoulder and Dan tries to scramble away from the punch in a fit of laughter. Barry stirs some on the floor under them and they both have to stuff their sniggers back down their throats, holding closed fists tightly to their mouths. They look at each other through pinched, gleeful eyes and it gets harder yet to stay quiet.   
     There’s a pause where the two of them just suck in air and try to steady themselves, and then Arin speaks again in a whisper.   
     “What I was getting at is…” He nods his head over towards Ross: asleep with his head against the arm of the couch just a few cushions away. “You wanna make shit happen?”   
He locks eyes with Dan and they share a devilish grin.   
     “Dude, are you serious?”   
      “As a fucking heart attack.”   
                                                                                                       ************************  
       
     About ten minutes and a can of whipped cream later, Ross’s hand is just _covered_ in the stuff and he slapped his face with it all on his own— they didn’t even need the feather. Dan and Arin can’t repress their laughter much longer, and they’re both goddamn certain they can’t keep it quiet enough to not intrude on their friends’ rest, so they streak out of the living room and into the guest bedroom at the end of the hall. As soon as Arin gets the door shut he collapses against it and he and Dan are hysterical, arms draped across their bellies in fruitless attempts to cage in the ache of their laughter, heads thrown back as they howl up at the ceiling.   
     “O-Oh… my god… ha--hah, dude, oh my god,” Dan stutters through his fit, actual fucking tears welling up in his eyes when he can’t stop the intensity of his laughter from engulfing him completely.   
     “That was so _fucking_ stupid,” Arin yells, and then cackles in earnest. “I cannot believe we just did that.”   
      They climb onto the bed in the center of the room and rest against one another, catching their breath. Arin’s shoulder and his hip are pressed up against Dan’s, and he feels like his whole body is ablaze, but he doesn’t notice so much as he works his way through this dry, giddy feeling burning in his lungs.   
Then it comes: the moment his brain catches up with his heart and things get beautifully, agonizingly complicated.   
     “Hey, Dan?”   
     “Mm?”   
     Arin is still grinning and there’s something breathless about him after all this, but his eyes are soft and earnest. They make eye contact and Danny can feel the profundity of the moment, even swimming amongst all this stupid mirth.   
     “I really appreciate you, too, by the way. You’re such a dope and you ooze about it on Grumps all the time, and I know it comes naturally for you to be so straight up sincere like that, but I’m with you when you say you’re happy we met, and all that stuff. I just wanted to let you know.”   
     It doesn’t hit him right away. Instead, Dan falls back on his faithful mantra: “You don’t need to say it back to me, man. _You’re_ the one who's made all this—” he spreads his arms wide across the scope of the room “—happen for me. Being a team is a lot of fun, and I’m just, like, really into the course my life is taking right now, and you’re the one who got me here."   
     “Dan.” Arin twists his body so he’s almost hovering over Danny, leaning in close like a kid with a secret, “It doesn’t matter who did what for who. I could fill scrolls with all the shit you’ve done for me, but that’s not what matters here, and it’s not like you’ll listen anyway, you’re so bashful,” he covers Dan’s knee with his palm and the warmth there feels so big, somehow, so all-encompassing: like it’s not coming just from his hand but from his chest and from his heart and from his big, brown eyes— “I’m just trying to tell you that I care, too. You’re special. You’re a good addition to my life. You just helped me prank the fuck out of Ross and dude, I love you for it. Okay?”   
     It’s a perpetual summer in California and Dan finds himself thinking that his lips shouldn’t be this chapped without any cold to wear away at them. For a minute he opens and closes his mouth like a fish, desperate to reply and form words that just aren’t there; his mind’s gone blank, the edges of his body soft and buzzing with this feeling he can’t quite comprehend, and nothing comes through amidst the static.   
     Well, there’s happiness. He’s definitely happy. All of this is so amazing, so much, and he’s thankful…   
     But suddenly he wants to spend the rest of his life with the man in front of him, to have and cherish this happiness with Arin at his side, and he’s not sure if that’s entirely normal?   
     And shit, it’s not; he’s in love. So in love he’s stupid with it.   
     The panic is cushioned by the still burning glow of happiness inside of him, and honestly, it’s not really upsetting for him to realize he’s in love with his best friend. It’s going to be a bitch to deal with later, that’s for sure, but right now his love feels precious and beautiful because Arin’s here, and they’re smiling and talking and happy. Dan tries to will himself to feel scared but he remembers Cowboy Bebop, and Spike, saying “whatever happens, happens.” That’s enough right now, he figures.   
     He finally finds himself with words to say to Arin: “Well, so long as the feeling’s mutual. Thank you, Arin— shut up, not just for everything— I mean for tonight. I had fun.”   
     Arin, bless him, grins back crookedly. “‘Course. I did, too.”   
     They fall asleep in that bed some time later, lulled to sleep by the happy vibes squirming in the air around them.   
  



	2. Not as Easy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really hope this chapter doesn't read as pretentiously as I think it does. I swear I don't mean it! I struggled a bit with this one, as I've never written a slow burn before, but my goal here was to add tension to Dan's attempts to talk himself through all the shit he's feeling, because man, balancing a crush is HARD. 
> 
> I really hope you guys enjoy this. I'd love some comments if you'd be willing to leave them-- maybe help me brainstorm where to take the next chapter?

     The next morning Dan wakes up new with the knowledge that he’s in love with Arin. He doesn’t feel like he’s changed or that his life has been revolutionized or anything, but there’s this new anxiety buzzing in the air around him:  
     He gets out of bed, says good morning to his friends. _I love Arin._ _  
_      Everyone discovers the vandalism that was done unto Ross’s face last night and they all share a good laugh. _I love Arin._ _  
_      He’s groggy and gross and didn’t bring any fresh clothes with him for the night over, so before Arin drops everyone off he hops in the shower in hopes of getting at least a little bit cleaner. _Arin. Arin. I love Arin._  
     This is just embarrassing, Dan thinks as he lets the water run over him in the shower. Like, it’s fine for him to have a crush, and to think about the guy and blush, and maybe even get a little bit middle school, but he feels like he owes it to Arin to not make this something creepy, to be able to be his friend and his coworker without falling selfishly into the depths of his feelings. He breathes in the hot air of the shower and promises himself then and there that he’ll deal with this like an adult; he won’t let his personal shit interfere with his daily life and make things harder for those around him.   
     The resolution grounds him, and when Dan exits the bathroom he feels hopeful that he can carry this and still lead his newer, happier life. Now his head just keeps telling him _it’s okay, it’s okay, it’s okay_ in rhythm and maybe that’s just a new, different kind of neurotic, but at least he feels less creepy thinking it.   
  
     Dan steps into the living room and is surprised to find it empty. Right before he’d left to wash up, the rest of his friends had been lounging on the couch eating breakfast and watching Cake Boss on the flatscreen— Arin’s place is only so big, so where could four people reasonably disappear to in 20 minute’s time? Maybe he’s about to get revenge-pranked by Ross? He tiptoes towards the couch skittishly, maneuvering around the living room like it’s a potential minefield.   
     He finds his phone on the coffee table and taps it with his thumb. It springs to life in his hand and there’s a new text from Arin waiting for him:   
_Hey man. others were getting tired so i brought them home while you showered- i’ll swing by and get you on my way back. Shouldn’t be long_ _  
_      Ah, that explains it. Dan sighs in understanding and falls back onto the couch, collapsing into it and letting his eyes flutter shut as he gets comfy. Exhaustion is stealing over him fast and he entertains the idea of a short nap on Arin’s couch— in reality, he and Arin _were_ the ones to get the least sleep last night, so it makes sense for him to be a bit groggy now. There’s nothing wrong with him chilling out a bit while he waits on his friend to pick him up, right? Nah. He smiles as he nuzzles into the couch cushion, really sinking into the depths of his lethargy— just this simple pleasantry is enough to make him feel thankful. Honestly, how many tired people really get to sleep when they need it?   
     In a couple minutes he’s caught in this happy reverie of non-consciousness; he’s not exactly asleep, but by no means is he lucid, either. He’s awake enough to experience the process of resting and it feels absolutely heavenly. He doesn’t know how long he lays there before suddenly his phone is buzzing in his hand and Arin’s absolutely laying it on the horn outside —probably just to be cheeky, the little shit— but it’s definitely a rude awakening and he scrambles out there in a daze, shuffling towards the car while he grimaces up at the sun.   
     Arin’s got this shit-eating grin on his face when he opens door on the passenger’s side. “How was your nap, sleeping beauty?” He sing-songs, “I saw you passed out through the window.”   
     “And your immediate instinct was to give me the most obnoxious wake-up call you could manage?”   
     He nods feverishly, impossibly giddy. “Yeah!”   
     Dan laughs, “You fuck.”   
     “Aw, you’d do me the same.”   
     “Mmm… Okay, yeah, you’re right. Fair enough.”   
  
     The ride home is laid-back and comfortable. Arin honors Dan’s budding exhaustion and the trip is made mostly in silence, though they’ve got the radio on low playing new music neither of them don’t bother to keep up with anymore. Dan doesn’t even think about his crush that much: he’s just in the car with his friend, half-awake and bleary-eyed and content. Maybe this won’t change things too much after all, he thinks. Maybe they can keep existing like this and he can keep feeling this love that’s more than just love (it’s affection and gratitude and admiration and just _more_ ) as a private kind of treat, a controlled indulgence. And when he’s not longing he can just have… this. He smiles to himself at the thought.   
     After a long stretch of silence Dan opens his eyes and finds that they’re on his street, fast approaching his house. He writhes around in his seat and gets a good stretch out, gangly limbs overpowering the cramped front of the car. Arin snorts and looks at him with a raised brow.   
     “You good?”   
     “Ugh, yeah man,” he breaks off in a yawn, “just more tired than I altogether planned on being. Sorry ‘bout that.”   
     “Man, it’s fine. This was nice. I like the ride to your house— there’s some really pretty scenery on the way. Go inside and get some good sleep, okay?”   
     Dan lolls his head to the side so he can rest his chin on his shoulder and really take Arin in, then smiles warmly. “Thanks, big cat. You too.”   
     Arin grins back and moves to cover Dan’s hand with his. It’s a casual gesture, one he’s done plenty of times before— to reassure him, or say thanks, or just to lend a moment some unsaid genuinity. It’s always been comforting: Arin’s hand is huge; one of the few that can fully cover his. He’ll take his and give it a squeeze, or just leave it there and let their heat mingle, and they’ll look at each other and have a conversation with their eyes. There’s never been anything… more, he guesses is the appropriate word, to it. But this time something rapturous explodes inside of him and all at once he’s trying to celebrate it and stuff that feeling deep, deep back down; warmth pricks at his neck down by his collar and shoots quickly through to his cheeks, and Dan jumps away like he’s been bit. Arin gives him this startled, worried look, but Dan is bashful and apologetic and hurriedly backing out of the car, waving his hands around and babbling to distract from his blush.   
     “Dan—?”   
     “Yeah, sorry, man! Just, pfff, tired, y’know? I’m gonna— I’m gonna get inside. See ya tomorrow, okay?”   
     But he’s already backtracking away from Arin, doing this weird backwards waltz up to his door so he can wave goodbye and pretend he’s normal while he makes his retreat.      Once he gets to the door he whips around and starts digging in his pocket for his key, heart pounding a vengeful rhythm in his chest.  
     After a bit of fumbling he finally gets the lock undone and disappears inside his house, too chicken shit to look back.   
  
     “What the fuck.” What the fuck?   
     Honestly, though. What. the. _fuck._  
     Dan covers his face with his hands and groans into them— in frustration, embarrassment, shame, etc. All these negative emotions rise up and break over him and he tries to wail them all out into his palms but of course that’s not going to work; plus, Barry’s here, and he can’t break the rule he _just made for himself_ about not letting this fuck with other people’s lives.   
     Though, doesn’t what _just_ happened in his driveway count as breaking it?   
     What the fuck.   
     Still itchy with frustration, Dan trudges to his room and tries to come to terms with his fuck-up. He thinks, firstly, that he could write this off as trial and error, but then the thought comes to him that this wasn’t really supposed to be an error-riddled thing: he expected some behind the scenes suffering, sure, but he didn’t want to actually have to grapple with his feelings for his friend _in front of his friend._ What fun is that?   
     The way that Arin’s hand felt… was the same. Warm, enveloping, a little bit sweaty: but it was so much, suddenly. So much of what he wanted… though not in the right way, because Arin didn’t know, didn’t feel the same; wasn’t trying to dye Dan’s cheeks such a gaudy pink the way that he had. What would that simple gesture have felt like if he did; if he was?  
     Fuck. Dan gets up and paces his room for a bit, ends up dropping into his desk chair and trying to slide into some work. He updates his planner and tries to scribble out some song lyrics, but they all start out NSP and get alarmingly Skyhill by the line, so he opts instead to respond to some emails from fans. At least that way he’s putting out some good karma, even if he’s feeling a bit rattled, himself.   
     That helps a bit, but not for long. Dan’s the kind of guy who can’t sit comfortably unless he’s got everything squared away in his mind; he won’t be able to relax and enjoy himself if this thing keeps hanging over him like some unwelcome spectre, percolating his thoughts with _what if’s_ and should i’s  and just general ambivalence. If he’s thinking this through logically, the main issue is that there’s a chance this’ll happen again, that he’ll get caught up in his love for Arin and get all gay in front of him. That, like, can’t happen. He promised himself just this morning that it wouldn’t.   
     “Goddammit.” Dan sighs and forces his hand through his hair, yanking it all back and wincing where his fingers catch the tangles.   
     But what can he really do? It’s not like he meant for it to happen in the car. Maybe he just needs to build up a tolerance? Try implementing some negative reinforcement and shock himself every time he gets worked up in front of his coworker? Though shock therapy can only make his situation so much weirder, socially, and he doesn’t have a high tolerance for pain.   
     In the end, he doesn’t have many tools in the way of dealing with this, and that pisses him off.   
     “Hey, Dan?”   
     His door inches open with a low squeak and a groggy Barry props himself up against the entrance, hand gripping the top rail.   
     “What’s up, Bar?”   
     “Arin wants to know if you got sick or something after he dropped you off earlier today. ‘Says you looked pukey when you got outta the car.”   
     At that Dan barks out an earnest laugh: he throws his head back and really lets his body roll with it, thankful for the stress relief, and holds up a hand to placate Barry while he watches him like he’s seeing a man gone mad.   
     “No, no, I’m fine, man,” Dan finally tells Bar once he’s calmed down, “Something just caught me off guard, is all.”   
     The man raises an eyebrow. “What did?”   
     “Nothing, uh, really important, man. I can’t even really remember it anymore.”   
     “Mm,” Barry catches the lie instantly but lets it roll off his shoulders, and Dan curses himself again for sucking so hard at this. “You wanna order Chinese later?”   
     “Yeah, Chinese sounds good. Split the bill?”   
     “Nah, I’ve got you tonight, Dan. You gonna be good while I call it in or are you still pukey?”   
     Dan squares up his shoulders defensively, “I told you I was fine.”   
     “Right, right,” he waves a hand dismissively and lets his body fall away from the doorway, arm outstretched as he hangs on by the rail, “I’ll call for ya when the food’s here.” And he starts to walk away.   
     “I’m sure I’ll hear it coming,” he mumbles, perhaps mostly to himself.   
  
     Later that night Dan has a dream:   
     He and Arin are in the Grump room, doing their thing, when this guy walks in. He’s got this somber, intellectual kinda vibe going on: tousled brown hair, thick glasses, blazer. He sits down in the space in front of them (just kind of… floating there) and turns to Dan. Dan ignores him and just plays the game for a bit until the guy clears his throat and asks him ‘which one he’d choose’. Dan doesn’t really get it and asks which one of what? but he catches Arin out of the corner of his eye: both of them. Two Arins sitting next to each other on the Grump couch, staring at him. Part of him is distracted and just wants to keep playing the game, which keeps lapsing over his vision and taking away from the world in front of him— but he’s confused and flustered and he stammers out both, looking between each Arin pleadingly. All three (???) of the men in the room like pretty disappointed at that, and Dan can only take in their fallen faces for a moment before he blinks and finds himself back home, in his bedroom in Jersey. He can tell because he’s got football jerseys tacked to the wall and it smells like teenager. He walks out into the hallway and finds Avi in the kitchen, making pancakes. He greets his father and Avi turns around with a flourish and holds out a platter of pancakes for him, but every time he tries to take his plate his hands go right through it, again and again, until he gets so frustrated that he slams his hands down on it and the plate falls from Avi’s hands, shattering at his feet. His old man looks at him, broken, and then he’s awake in bed.   
     Now, Dan doesn’t exactly know what all that means, but when he rolls over to go back to sleep the last words to cross his mind are “I’m fucked.” However, he sleeps peacefully through the rest of the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, thanks so much for giving my humble gay fantasies a read. Your time is valued and you are great. Get out there and have a great day, bucko.


	3. A Re-Cap, a Build Up

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Get pumped: things are happening!! Gonna try to get the next chapter out really soon to complement this one. 
> 
> By the way, what do you guys think about me making a Game Grumps blog on Tumblr? I'm too paranoid to link this fic to my main one, but I want to interact with the fandom more and talk with people who read this (maybe take some requests for mini-fics and talk headcanons?? That sounds like so much fun). Would you guys follow me if I did that? Let me know!
> 
> Edit: I did it. I did it. It's here: www.chickenwinginit.tumblr.com

     The next week is… stressful. Here’s what happens:  
  
     Dan walks into the Grump office on Monday paranoid out of his mind. Since Barry had shown suspicion on Sunday night, he’s felt like his thoughts are just radiating off of him; roiling in the air for everyone to see. He’s got in in his head that he has to physically keep his secret close to his person, so he clenches his fists close to his sides and walks machine-like into the kitchen while he argues with himself about whether or not he’s ready to jump into recording for the day. Can he trust himself to sit with Arin on the Grump couch for the next several hours without letting anything slip, he wonders? Honestly, he feels guilty for the way he ditched Arin the other day, running away like he’d been burned. Dan’s eager to reconcile things with him and put his mind at ease— but there’s the issue of doing that without making anything worse.  
     Deep breaths. Dan grabs a mug from the counter and starts filling it with coffee, focusing on his breathing. In. Out. In. Out. He’s got this. It’s fine. He drinks deeply from the mug and focuses on the warmth stealing through him. He can face anything if he’s relaxed enough, he reminds himself; he’s just gotta chill out a little bit. Nobody’s gonna find anything out if he just sits with his friend today, apologizes for his weirdness, and enjoys himself. This is simple shit. It’s gonna be fine.  
     His pep talk works, and things actually do end up going okay: he tells Arin he just really had to piss and couldn’t spare any time explaining, and offers a sincere apology for worrying him. Arin laughs and is like “Dude, you tell me every time you get a boner the moment you get it, why is pee any different?” and Dan throws his arms skyward and yells      “I was _literally_ going to pee all over your car seat!”  
Even though it’s a lie, he kind of tricks himself into believing it, and he and Arin laugh genuinely hard at the pseudo-memory.  
  
     On Tuesday he’s pumped about making it out unscathed on Monday, and he feels he’s getting a gauge for the effort it takes to keep his shit under wraps. That’s before he remembers that he and Arin like to joke about fucking each other during recording sessions. It doesn’t do anything for him, sexually speaking, because it’s all such stupid bullshit— jokes about threesomes and “man goo” and penis envy, but Dan gets kind of sad because all the attention is faked; Arin would never look at him that way. But he was pretending to, and against all odds it gives Dan this tiny, cursed shred of hope.  
     In his freshmen year of highschool, Dan had this girlfriend, Allison, who he’d met through one of his goth buddies in the 10th grade. Allison wore dark lipstick and thick eyeliner and knee-high combat boots —in fact, she kinda reminds him of how Suzy dresses, now that he thinks about it— and she loved to hate the world. Dan was really insecure back then and Allison’s doom-and-gloom attitude had the effect of convincing him that everyone else was the problem, not him; they both fell into this misanthropic pit together and started scheming to run away and start a new life with one another Walden-style, deep in the woods away from humanity. They made plans to meet up at midnight on a Sunday with all the money they could find and some sleeping bags to make their escape. Dan showed up at the spot at 11:30 and waited there for her for an entire two hours, but she never came.  
     Tuesday kind of makes him feel like he did back then, except hopeful, which is just so _stupid._  
  
     Wednesday is fine, and Dan feels like he loves Arin more than he could possibly take that day. When they finish grumping he goes home to watch “Say Anything” and stays up late into the night writing love songs. Some lyrics:  
_The day hell turned you loose_  
_was my favorite day_  
_~~but you burn~~_ _but I am singed at the tips_  
_and there are bandaids on my fingers_  
_don’t ask me why_  
_don’t ask me why_  
_~~I just think you’re pretty great~~_  
  
     “Dude, you look exhausted. When did you get to sleep last night?”  
     Dan and Arin meetup with Brian on Thursday to write some lyrics for the next Starbomb album and Arin is gawking at the bags under his eyes.  
     “Psssh, uh, four, maybe?” He says, rubbing his hand forcefully over his eye to try and rub out the sleep.  
     “What were you _doing?_ ”  
     “Titty-drop reddit?”  
     That earns him a laugh, and Arin grabs his hand and takes him down the street to the coffee shop and buys him an espresso with extra whipped cream (they’re still waiting on Brain, afterall). Dan grins at him and drinks from it gratefully.  
     “Fuck, thanks man. You know that kinda tired where you can’t feel your eyes?”  
     “Yeah?”  
     “It’s that kinda tired.”  
     Arin low-whistles and shakes his head at him. “Man, I feel you. There are some nights I just don’t wanna get off my phone, y’know? Not cause I’m looking at anything interesting, even, but because it’s there and there’s a lot of it and I don’t wanna _not know_ something.”  
     “There’s a lot to not know, man.”  
     “Not on the titty-drop reddit, though, huh?”  
     “Haha, what?”  
      There’s a long pause between the two of them before Dan remembers his lie and feigns remembrance. “Oh!” He shouts, and chuckles. “Sorry, sorry. Right.”  
      Arin’s about to open his mouth and say something, but then his phone buzzes and he digs around in his pocket for a minute to fish it out and read the text.  
     “It’s Brian. He’s at the office wondering where we are.”  
     “Great,” Dan sighs, “now _we_ look like the late ones.”  
  
     They work late into the night on Thursday, and come Friday Dan’s had basically no sleep. He feels… lonelier than he has in a while. It’s been a long week maneuvering around shit, and he’s never kept anything from Arin like this before: it’s more isolating than he’d prepared for. He tries to assuage that lonely feeling by texting his friend throughout the day while he’s running through business, meeting after meeting.  
**-Breaking news: I need to shit.** **  
** **-** ** _See, this is why you need a twitter._** **  
** **-I’m old and 140 characters are not nearly enough to amuse me.** **  
** **-** ** _’Breaking news: I need to shit’: 31 characters._** ** _  
_**      It helps and he’s in a much better mood by the time he’s finished everything. Still exhausted, though. By the time he gets back to his and Barry’s place he’s practically a zombie, shambling its way to his bedroom with its mouth hanging open, slack and stupid. He leaves his cell on the bedside table and collapses into his bed, practically mummifying himself in the sheets. He’s out in record time: fast asleep with sun still streaming in through his window.  
     When he wakes up a couple of hours later, he’s got a new text.  
******_-Hey dude, you wanna go get dinner tonight?_**


	4. Tentative First Steps

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this took me so long to get out there, guys. I had to write this through a really intense case of writer's block, so I hope it's up to par. I think things are gonna be picking up from here, though- so there's some good news. I really hope you enjoy this chapter and Arin's smartass flirting.

     Danny sits up and swings his legs over the bed, burying his toes in carpet while he stares at his phone bemusedly. Arin doesn’t usually ask these things so formally: he’s used to getting invited to Arby’s and Jamba Juice under some sort of preface, like, to do work or catch up after a long time apart or something. Arin could easily have just given him a time and a place and he’d be there; that’s all it really takes.  
     He taps his thumb to the screen and begins to type out a reply.  
     - **Like, as a da** **  
**Backspace. Backspace backspace backspace.  
     - **Yeah of course. Where?**  
     Dan doesn’t expect an immediate response, given that there was at least an hour’s time between Arin texting him and him waking up from his nap. He goes to brush his teeth in the meantime— his mouth always tastes like garbage after he’s slept. Before he’s even finished, though, his phone goes off in his bedroom; a call this time, not a text. Dan traps his toothbrush between his teeth and scurries to go answer it.  
     “Hello?” He tries to speak around all the toothpaste.  
     “Dan?”  
     He replies with an urgent _mmph_ before taking out the stupid toothbrush and spitting into a nearby trash can. “Arin, what’s up?” He says finally, a little breathless.  
     “Hey, man. You said you were up for dinner tonight, right?”  
     “Didn’t you get my text? Of course. Sorry I got back to you late, I took a nap literally the second I got home—”  
     “Listen, you wanna go to the Bestia?”  
    He blinks. “I mean, whoa, that place is pretty expensive…”  
     “S’on me, dude. Sound good?”  
     “What? No way! I can pay for myself. I just meant… y’know.”  
     “So you’re going, then?”  
     “I already told you: of course. Why would I—?” He lets the question die on his tongue.  
     “Alright, cool.” Arin sounds satisfied. “I’m gonna come pick you up in, like, thirty minutes. Wear nice shoes.”  
_Click._ The motherfucker hangs up on him.  
  
                                                                                                      *************  
  
     The Bestia looks like a dilapidated barn house from the outside— so much so that it’s almost kind of creepy. The wood of the building looks grey with dehydration, like if you touched it it might flake off on your fingers, and the words “Bestia” are just spraypainted asymmetrically some feet above the door. Inside, though, the place is fashioned like a fancy cafe: cramped tables, an exposed kitchen, the works. It looks brief, somehow: not like the kind of place you’d sit down to dinner. But from what he’s heard, the place promises some kickass Italian.  
     Arin eyes the place critically as they’re brought around to their table. He looks at Dan with his eyebrows raised, and Dan just shrugs. It’s LA.  
     “This isn’t exactly what I imagined,” Arin says when their waitress is gone. “I hope it’s alright with you anyway.”  
     Dan chuckles. “Man, you know I don’t care. This is fine.”  
     His friend grumbles, chargrined.  
     “What were you imagining, anyway?”  
     “Something more… romantic looking, I guess? Y’know, the cliche Italian place.”  
     He nearly chokes on his ice water. “Right,” he says, over the heat rising to his face, “I get it.”  
     That’s just how Arin is. Arin says that shit.  
     “So what’s up?” he asks him, looking Dan over with interest and a little bit of concern. “I wanted to check up on you, see if you’re getting any better sleep.”  
     Dan feels a sudden surge of affection for Arin: how he’s worrying for him, taking him out to dinner— probably just to make sure he’s getting enough to eat. He’s looking at him from across the table, brown eyed and gentle, and Dan thinks that as crass as the internet likes to see him (and as he sometimes may be), the guy’s a sweetheart.  
     “I think I’m doing better,” he answers, unsure of his own honesty. “I got a good nap in after I wrapped up work today, and you know how far just an hour’s rest can take a man.”  
     Arin puffs out a laugh through his nose. “Indeed I do. But you’re gonna need more than that or else you’re gonna crash, man. Do you have a lot to do this weekend?”  
     “No, not much. I’ve got Saturday all to myself, but Sunday I’ve gotta…”  
     They fall into conversation easily; naturals, just like they always have been. Being like this with Arin for the first time since last week soothes the inflamed lonely that’s been plaguing Dan, and he’s filled with thankfulness— but also a little bit of melancholy. Will he come out of this okay? This… crush? Well, that word feels too small. In reality it’s tall and domineering, and he worries that it’ll just keep on taking. Dan wants this kind of happy —of spending friday nights with Arin, laughing with him over a table of good food and sweet drinks; of laying up against his side in stitches while they record, of being _here_ , and free from the fatigue, the apathy of years past— undiluted. He wants it in its full, blinding glory: not tempered by some secret.  
     He wonders at his choices.    
  
     Arin looks up from the check he’s signing as they wrap up their dinner. He’d managed to coerce Dan into letting him pay with some persistent nagging and a simple, however veiled threat: “I’m your boss.” He’s leaning back in his chair pouting, embarrassed with his arms crossed but he looks up when Arin says his name.  
     “You don’t wanna go right home after this, do ya?”  
     Dan raises an eyebrow, smirks a little. “I thought you wanted me getting more sleep?”  
     “Pft,” Arin replies, pretending to be scandalized, “fine. We _won’t_ get ice cream, then.”  
     “Oh, there’s more food involved? Well, so long as there’s still something in it for me.”  
     “Bite me,” he snorts. He overturns the receipt and puts the pen down, and Dan sees that he’s doodled a character smiling, exclaiming “Thank you!” in the top right-hand corner. He smiles.  
     “There’s a vendor down a couple blocks from here, right?”  
     “Yup. And a park across from that.”  
     “Sounds great, man,” he answers, perhaps a bit too warmly.  
  
     A few minutes later, they’ve made it down a couple blocks and across the street. The park is almost empty, save for some people relaxing or walking their dogs down beyond the trees.  
     “It’s a really gorgeous night out,” Arin says, tipping his head back to look at the sky as they eat their ice cream on a tiny park bench moored amongst the tall, uncut grass.  
     Dan follows his example and gets a glimpse at the unfurling night before them: a spangled swath of deep, dark blue that’s fading to black at the edges of his vision.  
     “Sure is.”  
     Then,  
     “In the movies, this’d be the moment we talked about life’s many tragedies, or confessed long-kept secrets to each other… or something.”  
     Arin turns to face him, and for a split second he looks intense: eyes wide, face hardened; maybe even a little sad. But then he drops it into a dead-pan and just stares. It takes all of Dan’s willpower not to writhe under his gaze.  
     “Uh… Arin?” He asks dubiously, trying to prompt him back into normalcy.  
     “Well?”  
     “‘Well’ what?”  
     “No life tragedies? No long-kept secrets?”  
_Oh._ “I’m not about to be a cliche, Big Cat.”  
     “C’mon!” Arin bumps his knee with his playfully. “Tell me somethin’ good.”  
     “Did I tell you about that time I hurt my neck trying to suck my own d—”  
     “Heeeeard it!”  
     “The time Avi and I—”  
     “Heard it.”  
     “Right, well—”  
     “Heard it!”  
     “I didn’t even start the story!”  
     Arin leans back and cackles and Dan shakes his head, trying to get the _what ifs_ out.  
     “Here’s a secret:” Arin starts,”sometimes I get scared that one day, you’re gonna have to get up and move on like Jon.”  
     It feels like the world pauses. It feels like a lightning bolt has cracked through him. Dan turns to his friend, horrified.  
     “Arin, shit dude, no. You know I would never…”  
     “I _don’t_ know; neither do you. And that’s fine.” The animator turns to him and he’s smiling, chilled out as ever. He settles back comfortably on the park bench and resumes looking at the sky. “It’s just how I feel sometimes.”  
     “...Right.”  
     They finish their ice cream in a calm silence after that, engulfed by the sky and by meditation. Dan tries to sit there and not worry, because something about this feels nice; liberating, somehow. Maybe it’s the honesty. That creature called hope grows in his belly.  
_That’s just how Arin is. Arin says that shit._ Y’know?  
     “We should probably be heading home now,” Dan says finally, some time later. He can start to feel fatigue pushing down on him, slowing the world and dulling his senses.     Though he’d joked about it before, he can really feel himself wanting for some sleep, and as much as he’d like to stay by Arin’s side in this weird reverie, he’s no use to him unconscious.  
     Arin checks his watch and whistles low. “Looks like it, man. You wanna come hang at my place for a while, or are you done in?”  
     “I’m getting pretty tired, honestly. Would you okay just dropping me off?”  
     “No prob. Let’s go.” He stands up on the bench and hops nimbly into the grass. Dan grins, watching him stretch his arms above his head to work out the tension. He finding      it’s becoming harder and harder not to find Arin so stunning. Just for now —for this one, small moment— he lets himself really admire that beauty.  
     A breeze sweeps through the park, blowing their hair back and away.    
  
                                                                                                              **************  
  
     Arin stops the car in Dan’s driveway. They’re right back where they were a week ago. Dan feels himself steeling up, anxiety-ridden, but forces his breathing to normalize. He’s learning, he realizes.  
     “You’re sure you don’t wanna just crash at my place?” Arin asks casually.  
     “Jeez, dude,” he teases, “what’re you tryin’ to do? You’re gonna keep me up into the wee hours.”  
     Arin snickers, but he rolls his shoulders back and looks him in the eye. “I guess I just don’t wanna let you go.”  
     Dan starts. He can’t stop the thought: _he looks like he means it,_ but then he remembers Game Grumps, and all those jokes, all that empty flirting, and he feels like a jerk; _c’mon, Dan, learn to take a joke. Laugh._ He does.  
     “I had a great time tonight, man.”  
     The moment breaks: Arin drops his eyes and sighs, smiling gently. “Me too, dude. See you at the Grump office next week, okay?”  
     “Totally.” A pause. “Have a good night, Ar.”  
     “You too.”  
     Ghost-like, his brain full, Dan exits the car in favor of the darkness of his own home. When he gets inside he flips on the light and practically stumbles over to the couch, collapsing into it with a muffled groan.  
      “Dan?” Barry steps into the light of the living room and up to the couch, rubbing his eyes.  
      “Hey, Bar.”  
      “What are you doing?”  
      “Y’know. Chilling.”  
     “You’re home late.”  
     “I was out with Arin.”  
     “Oh… You wanna talk about it?”  
     Dan forces himself upright against the arm of the couch. “What?”  
     “Oh, you didn’t—?” Barry backpedals. “Nevermind, man, it’s nothing.”  
     “No, seriously,” Dan presses, defensive, “What are you talking about?”  
     “Dan, I—”  
     “Barry, c’mon. It’s fine, just tell me. What is it?”  
     “I thought you told him.”  
     He pales. “Told him…?”  
     “Y’know… how you feel.”  
     “Fuck,” Dan whispers, “you knew?”  
     Barry shrugs. He’s giving him this pitying look and it’s kind of pissing him off, but that’s all being overwhelmed by the cold pit in his belly.  
     “It’s not that you’re obvious, man,” he says, “but, like, I know you, and I know how you are with Arin. He’s kind of a hero for you. I thought it was about time this kind of thing happened.”  
     Dan sighs, letting a long gust of air out from his chest. His hand’s back in his hair again, fidgeting anxiously through the knots. He’s trying to think of a way to face this; he could choose dignity, he could throw himself at Barry’s knees and beg he keep his mouth shut, hell, he could threaten him, technically. But he’s not really in the mood to ruin one of his closest friendships.  
     “We’re beyond the age of me needing to ask you not to go crazy spreading this information around, right?”  
     “Far beyond,” Barry assures him. Okay. Thank god. “But I feel like you’re also a little old to be harboring a secret crush.”  
     “Barry, my choices are kind of limited, here. If I tell him I’m risking everything. What the hell do you want me to do?”  
     In a few short strides, Barry joins him and sits beside him on the couch. He pulls his legs into his lap and looks at Dan seriously. “Do you remember that movie, Cabin in the Woods?” He asks.  
     “Uh… yeah?”  
     “Where they fail to please the horror movie gods by killing each other and trigger the end of the world?”  
     “What about it?”    
     “I don’t know, don’t you think it was powerful? ‘If you’ve got to kill all my friends to survive… maybe it’s time for a change.’”  
     Dan starts to get it. He lays his palms out desperately. “But this isn’t life or death, Barry.”  
     “I mean, not to be dramatic, man, but it sort of is, in a way. It’s a quality of life thing.”  
     “My quality of life is _amazing,_ ” he stresses, sounding agonized, “that’s the problem.”  
     “How are you right now, Dan?”  
     He doesn’t answer.  
     “When was the last time you had a good night’s sleep?”  
     No reply.  
     Barry puts a sympathetic hand on his shoulder. The gesture feels almost fatherly, and despite himself he stops brooding and looks his friend in the eye.  
     “You’re going to have to settle this sometime, Dan. For Arin, if nothing else. He’s going to start worrying about you.”  
_He already has,_ Dan thinks.  
     But he thanks Barry and heads off to bed for another sleepless night.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks so much for reading:)


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